Origami Daffodils
by Kikaiyu
Summary: George has, for a long time, tried to make a good life for himself, cushioning himself with humour and good-naturedness. It's when he reveals a secret about himself that he discovers that the life he hates can be heaven. [SLASH, language and eventual sex.


_Origami Daffodils_

_Introduction: My Little Secret_

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There are few things in the world that enthral me more than fire. The way its flickering seems to be so languid, though it's constantly in motion. Its ever-changing splendour. Its unpredictability. It's like some beautiful, holy creature – sardonic and restrained.

In some ways, it reminds me of myself. Bright and jovial to the world, but destructive and painful in reality. The only way to truly understand fire's nature is to get close, and that's not something most people bother to do. They don't realize that even happy folk sing the blues.

* * *

It was Fred, ultimately, that convinced me to let my clandestine skeleton out of the closet. At the time, it seemed a ridiculous, daunting idea, but he gently reminded me that I'd done more shocking things before, and strangely, I couldn't find a reply to justify that. He was right, of course. He usually was. 

The first person to find out was, quite predictably, Lee Jordan. From there, I'm not sure how the news got out. Frankly, I didn't care. At the time, I'd figured that my life was to end anyway, so the method didn't concern me.

We all get our surprises. Mine was the support I got suddenly. People were no longer congratulating me for hitting Mrs. Norris with a Fillibuster Firework, but telling me aggravating things like, 'I never knew you had a soft side, George,' and 'It's about time people were honest their feelings, eh?'

This was originally all I wanted: some individuality, and to be taken as a human being. I figured I could handle all the faggot jokes; the tight assed, insecure, never-been-laid little boys telling me I was sick, or I was going to hell, things like that. I mean, I was well known for being sick long before I gave away my little secret, and I wasn't worried about hell – that had always seemed more of a muggle thing. If the devil was going to waltz around hunting fags all day, what was to happen to the atheists and non-believers? And what of the poor, neglected folk of the Ministry of Magic?

In the end, it wasn't the testosterone junkies who made me miserable. It was all the "friends" I acquired: beautified, plastic girls who were "there for me," and who wouldn't give a shit about me otherwise. Not to mention all my old friends, who suddenly talked to me as if I'd joined the Death Eaters and created a diet consisting primarily of blood and the intestines of helpless virgins.

On the upside, I was suddenly the holy martyr for in-the-closet gays with no one to talk to. It made me feel all special and fuzzy. And, truth told, it sort of justified the unwanted attention. What can I say? I'm floofy.

It took a long time for my life to go on as usual, and my newly found fagdom to become old news. However, time swallowed the controversy up, as it usually does, and soon I was simply left with the oh-so cheery knowledge that I'd been honest and beat the heterosexual system. At first, it seemed hardly a triumph. But how was I to know what was in my glittery, velvet future?

* * *

They say anger is beauty. 

But how much good has self-pity done? All that has resulted is an addiction to depression, and an injurious fascination with things best left unloved.

I suppose that I've always been a little misunderstood. For some reason, whenever I'm around people, I find myself swallowing my pride and pretending to be cheerful, careless and jovial. I know it's a lie, but I hardly even do it on purpose anymore. It just happens. I've always been a shadow under my brother's footfalls. He's always been so fun to be around, I can't help but follow his lead. What can I say? People _like _me like that. How can they understand that all the people's laughter, all the girls following us around...

That's the problems, isn't it?

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_A/N: Thank you for reading the first part to Origami Daffodils! Please tell me what you thought of it, and if you are a flamer, please realize that _you _were the one who read, or at least clicked on, this story. If homosexuality bothers you, why are you reading it?_

_On a seperate note, I need an opinion. I quite obviously have an idea for this story, and I'm pretty sure I know what the pairing is, but I want to ask the world anyway. Would you rather see a twincest (Fred/George) or uh...Malorge? (George/Malfoy)? I think I've already decided, but I'd like to hear an opinion. Thanks!_

_Kikaiyu_


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